


Foreign Bodies

by etrix



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes has a Potty Mouth, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Inspired by Art, Minor Character Death, Non-consensual body control, Off screen serious injury, Sentient alien parasites, Steve Rogers has health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-20 18:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19382311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etrix/pseuds/etrix
Summary: On a cloudy day, Captain America’s famous metal arm dropped out of the sky right in front of Steve, but when he touched it, it disappeared. Or did it?





	Foreign Bodies

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bucky/Steve #14](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/493492) by jay_scrawls. 



> [](http://www.mediafire.com/view/cmevgb69voavi59/ForeignBodies_Banner.jpg/file)  
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> 
>  
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> **Written for the 2019 Captain America Reverse Big Bang**
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>  
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>  **Artist** : jay-scrawls
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>  **Word count** : 10k
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : Written for love and fun, not profit. Available for free on archiveofourown.org and fanfiction.net. If a site asked you to pay to see this work, let me know.

Steve was sitting on the back stairs of the old 3-storey house he shared with seven other college students, contemplating his future – his very dim future – when it fell from the sky.

His future didn’t fall from the sky, because that wasn’t what futures did.

Unless, he thought, his future was having a heart attack at 22.

No, what fell was a long, bent cylinder not three feet from his head, so heavy it made the whole porch shake and cracked one of the cement blocks that made up the back yard.

“What the eff?” Steve said. He pressed a hand to his racing heart. Unfortunately, it didn’t take much to make his heart race thanks to a bout of sarcoidosis at 16 that permanently scarred his lungs. Goodbye college baseball scholarships…

He looked at the neighboring houses in case anyone else had seen or heard (or felt) the impact. No heads poked over fences, so it was just him. He looked up to the sky which was gray and cloudy and completely unremarkable. Finally, he looked back at the thing, adjusting his glasses to sit more firmly on his nose.

It was a long, thick chunk of something, gleaming dully in the muted sunlight. It had to have fallen from an airplane or something. They did that, right? Flushed out their toilets at 30,000 feet and the liquid froze before it hit the ground.

Steve looked up automatically, but of course, he couldn’t see anything except heavy clouds.

He looked again at the lump that had nearly killed him. It looked like metal, blackish metal, and not like frozen chemical toilet waste. He inched off the step, shifting slowly onto one knee, to get a closer look. He was barely off the stairs when it became clear the lump was definitely a silvery-black metal. In fact, the longer Steve looked at it, the more it was oddly familiar.

It wasn’t until he saw the red star that he realized exactly what it was: Captain America’s arm. The magical metal that had fused with Bucky Barnes in WWII and made him the first Captain America.

How had he not recognized it at once?

He’d grown up on stories of Bucky Barnes. Growing up in Brooklyn, the official comics had been required reading. Not knowing what happened to Bucky Barnes in Captain America #22 could’ve gotten Steve an afterschool beating. Or rather an extra beating. More beatings…

So he had read bad bootlegged copies of all the Original Run series, and blurry photocopies of the Golden Age runs starting with William Burnside’s rediscovery of the metal in the ice. He’d read about Betty Ross as the first female Captain America, recognizing all the sexist bias that would’ve been normal in the 70s. He’d even bought first-runs of some of Sam Wilson’s adventures, because in his opinion, Wilson was the best Captain America since Barnes himself.

And now, he was looking at Captain America’s arm…

It couldn’t be real.

He reached out a hand. He just touched the distinctive star. The metal was warm. Was it actually from outer space? It was more plausible since _actual aliens_ had attacked New York last year. 

There was nothing to indicate why it was here, and not attached to Sergeant Wilson like it was supposed to be.

A small square thing, looking like a CPU with an antenna, was stuck to the surface. It was even flashing.

“Rogers!” Steve looked towards the house and panicked a little. He did _not_ want Pascal to find the arm. It was probably a good thing that he’d be pissed about something else.

“You dweeby fucktard! Why the hell did you punch Samuel?” Pascal yelled from inside.

Steve stood up, needing to be full height for this conversation. Pascal Horta was a senior at the same college Steve attended. First year, Steve had responded to an ad Pascal posted for roommates. That year had been fine, even though Pascal was always nosing into his business, acting (he claimed) “in loco parentis” to the freshmen. The fact that he was only two years older than Steve stopped him not at all.

Steve put with it, because architecture school wasn’t cheap, and the rent he paid for his one room meant he only had to work one job. However, this semester Pascal let a room to Sam Barone, and the only one who was happy with the set up was Pascal.

Barone was a sneak and a liar. He’d convinced Pascal that all his bad behavior was a result of being an orphan. _Steve_ was an orphan, and he didn’t steal stuff from people’s rooms, didn’t try to hack into people’s laptops or read their mail. Violence might not be a good answer, but it was at least standing up and drawing a line.

Pascal rammed through the back door hard enough make the screen bounce. He was average height, but he made up for it by being excessively muscled. His multi-colored dreadlocks swung free. “What the fuck were you thinking, Rogers?” He was definitely annoyed if he was using last names.

“He was in my room,” Steve pointed out reasonably.

“I told you last time to fucking _lock your fucking door_.”

Like it was _Steve’s_ fault.

Steve pulled in a breath, hoping to keep calm. He lifted a finger. “One: I _did_ lock the door, but he broke in. Again. He took everything from my mini-fridge – again – and then he drew all over the pictures of my mother.” Moustaches were the mildest things Barone had– drawn. Thank God they were reprints and not the originals. He didn’t have many nice pictures of his mom.

Steve lifted another finger. “Two: I shouldn’t have to lock the door to _my room_. He should just know to keep the eff out. That’s just basic decency.”

Pascal rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Rogers. You can’t even swear.”

“The last time he broke into my room and messed with my stuff, you said he was on his last warning.”

“I know, I know, but…” Pascal sighed, running a hand over his dreadlocks. “He trusts me. And you know he’s got nobody else.”

“I know what he told us about his childhood. If half of it’s true, then yes. It was awful, but he uses it as a tool to manipulate you,” Steven argued. “Whenever anyone calls him on his behavior he plays the abused orphan card and you fold.”

“That’s cold, Rogers.”

“But is it untrue?”

Pascal frowned at the ground, and didn’t respond. Steve had little hope it was because Pascal was analyzing the last couple months and coming up with ‘manipulative asshole’ rather than ‘traumatized abuse survivor’.

“If you let him stay, then I’m going to have to leave.”

“It’s the middle of term. Where you going to go?”

There was more mockery than concern in Pascal’s voice, and Steve decided he was moving out, no matter what. “I’ll find someplace.”

No idea how…

Pascal put on his disappointed face, “If you feel that strongly…”

“He needs help,” Steve said. “Not coddling.”

Pascal’s faux-disappointment turned into a sneer. “End of the month’s in a week, loser.”

As the back door rattled behind his dramatic exit, it occurred to Steve that Pascal hadn’t mentioned Captain America’s arm lying in the yard right behind him. When he looked down, he realized why. The arm was gone.

He kneeled, and put his hand out again – maybe it had turned invisible? – but while the block was definitely cracked, the arm – the object, whatever it had been – was gone.

In Captain America #1, the writers said Bucky Barnes had picked up what looked like a rock while trying to escape Kreischsberg Castle. He’d planned to use it as a weapon (until he could get a gun) except it hadn’t been a rock at all, but some kind of magic metal that Hydra had found in Tønsberg with the Tesseract. According to the comic, the metal coated Sergeant Barnes’s left arm and was weapon and shield. Because of it, Sergeant Barnes rescued the other prisoners and destroyed the factory.

The first Allied troops they came across were SSR – the Strategic Science Reserve. The SSR knew what to do with a soldier with weird powers. They gave Barnes the name Captain America and arranged for him to command an elite squad to fight the Axis powers. According to the comics, they fought vampires and aliens in Italy and the Balkans, and hunted spies and monsters in England and Norway, and of course, they’d been on the beach at D-day. Mostly, though, they’d gone after the Ahnenerbe and Hydra, stopping the latter from using the weapons it developed from the relics stolen by the former.

There were 73 comics about Bucky Barnes as Captain America, and if Steve remembered right, the magic metal had nearly separated from him three – no, two – times. Once when Bucky was bitten by a werewolf, and once when he fell nearly 300 feet off a train in the Alps. Both times, the comics had Bucky struggling to survive.

Could it...

Could the current Captain America be seriously hurt? Were the Avengers fighting _right now_?

He’d heard some booms from downtown, but just thought it was far-off thunder or maybe Thor, Norse god of thunder, flying around Avengers Tower like he sometimes did. Steve stood and looked towards the skyscrapers. He couldn't see any fires or explosions, but maybe it was smokier than normal? Were the Avengers fighting some Big Bad right now? What had happened to Sam Wilson, the current Captain that had lost him his metal weapon?

Steve spun around, needing to get to a radio or TV or anything. His phone was too old–

Sam Barone slouched in the doorway, waiting. “I hear you’re leaving, Rogers.”

“Yeah, well. Pretty soon your trust fund won’t be able to cover the lost rent, so...” Steve hadn’t stopped his rush towards a news source. Barone followed just to be petty.

“He likes me better than you.”

It was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes even though he only did it internally. “I hope you’re both very happy.” It was times like this Steve wished he could take the stairs two or three at a time so he could get away faster. Barone was barely more fit than Steve was, but infinitely lazier. He even had a room on the main floor.

“You’re a self-righteous prick, Rogers!” Barone yelled up the stairs.

Steve hands shook as he pulled his keys out of his pocket. He almost wanted to change his mind about moving out, because Barone was a fucking bully, and you needed to stand up to assholes like that, but if Barone trashed Steve’s laptop like he’d done to Rajiv’s? Well, Steve didn’t have the money to replace it.

And, boy, did he want to replace it.

He paced as his ancient laptop booted. He tapped his foot while the browser opened. He held his breath as the page loaded.

Maybe the metal _was_ magic, and had magically gone back to Sam Wilson? Maybe he was fine?

Only one Captain America had died with the metal as part of him, and that was Bucky Barnes in 1945. All the other’s it had just left – when they got old, or if they’d turned out to be horrible like William Burnside. Although none of the comics ever showed teleportation as one of its abilities. The metal had just flowed out of the retiring Captain America and into the new.

Wait.

No…

Steve yanked his hand up so fast and hard it actually hurt his shoulder, but his skin was still pale flesh, not metal.

The flashing Breaking News banner caught his eye: … _weaponized robots targeting the Homeland Security office in downtown New York. Avengers on scene_ …

A bolded piece of text just underneath it asked: _Cap saves dozens from explosion, but did he save himself_?

So, it was possible. Sam Wilson, the first black Captain America, and one of the coolest people to ever wear the arm, was fatally hurt.

That still didn’t explain why the metal arm was here and not downtown.

A loud crash from the front jerked Steve out of his building panic. It sounded like someone had driven into one of the parked cars out front. (Hopefully Barone’s pretentious SUV.) That first _crunch_ was followed by a hollow boom that absolutely could not be a car crash.

Steve’s room faced the back, so he’d have to go downstairs to see what was going on.

His Sensible Voice said he should run out the back door as run as fast and as far as he could. He was probably going to ignore his Sensible Voice, but he would decide when he got downstairs and found out what was going on.

Emergency or not, he still had to lock his laptop, and every lock to his room before going.

The moment’s delay probably saved his life. He barely on the first floor when the front window exploded inward. Flying glass shredded Barone who’d been standing in front of it. He only had time for a short, high, shocked sound, and then he crumpled into a red pile. Steve stopped where he was, half protected from the worst of it by wall. His left arm came up to block any strays.

{well shit}

Should he go check on Barone? What had made the front wall _do_ that?

“What the fuck is going on?” Pascal nearly ran past Steve into the front room, but he lifted his left arm to block access. When Pascal hit it, he almost bounced.

“Call 911,” Steve ordered.

{we need a gun}

“Do you have a gun, or an axe or anything?”

Pascal gave him an odd look. “What the fuck? I don’t have a gun.”

{outside}

Steve pushed Pascal toward the back door. “Then let’s get out of here.” But Pascal was slow to move. They were barely two steps closer to escape when the robot broke through the front door.

{turn}

Steve spun, left hand raised. The robot was flat and low. Six legs made of jagged spikes supported a large gun turret and a red laser sight. He had enough time to wonder what he was doing, before the robot fired machine gun.

The bullets ricocheted off his now metal arm, which moved to intercept with an ease born of long practice. Practice Steve didn’t have. His mind blanked. His body froze. ‘What am I _doing_?’

{getting in the way}

The arm was talking to him. Taking control of his body.

{trying, pal, you’re not helping}

“Holy cow.”

{fucking relax}

It was as if acid swept through his veins, releasing his body from his shock. But there was also a block at the top of his spine. {sorry, kid} When he tried to turn to run away, the signal didn’t make it past it. Steve had been relatively okay with having a killer robot shooting at him. Having some kind of sentient magic metal take over his body was absolutely terrifying.

{not too bright, pal}

His body moved to dodge a small rocket. Then it ran him _towards_ the robot!

‘I’m gonna die.’

{not if this fucking works}

His body jumped, impossibly high. His left hand made a fist – a ball of solid, heavy metal. The weight pulled him down, like a bullet, right onto the red laser eye. His fist broke through the armor, into the robot’s guts. And then his fist exploded.

He felt it – distant and dreamlike – but definitely there. It was the weirdest sensation, as if his fingers had grown into 20-inch spikes that punched outward like a cartoon cat’s fur when electrocuted. He felt it when the metal spikes (his _hand_ ) broke through the wiring, like a slight tingling in his fingers.

Before he could adjust, his hand was shrinking back to its normal shape. His fingers wrapped around the gun turret _and ripped it off_.

{cooking with gas}

It was over.

{not quite}

An unholy metallic shrieking filled the house from the street. His body moved to the front wall next to the door. His body crouched before his head peeked through what was left of the front wall.

Steve saw what his body saw, which was a great, big monster robot just up the street from their place. It was nearly 2-storeys tall and smooth, slick surfaces and lots of guns. _Lots_ of guns. Where the robot in the house had had one gun, the one in the road had at least four. Maybe rocket launchers. It had eight legs instead of six, but a couple of them seemed to be impaled in an old Chevy. It was probably the only reason the robot hadn’t already followed its smaller cousin into their house.

‘I can’t fight that.’

{nobody’s asking} he heard in his head. Then {brace yourself}

Pressure built in Steve’s skull, and pain swallowed his bones. It built and built, and he even managed to override the block to curl around himself. This was worse than anything he had ever experienced, and he’d been hit in the nuts, dislocated his knee, and broken a rib all in the same game.

{not much longer}

It wasn’t reassuring.

Steve wasn’t just curled, but collapsed on the floor. In his mind, he was screaming, but the _thing_ in his body wouldn’t let any sound out.

{I am sorry kid, but it’s the only way we got a chance to get out of this.}

And then it eased off, like week three of recovery.

{It’ll never be that bad again. I promise.}

Steve lay on the floor, breathing, feeling the last of the ache fade away to nothing. Feeling his lungs expand and fill with air easily, like they hadn’t done for over six years. “What is going on?”

{Why don’t we survive first, then I’ll explain after, alright?}

That was a voice. In his head. Sounding like a completely sentient person. ‘Why is everything blurry?’

{Shit! Your glasses.}

Steve’s hand came up and took off his glasses. The world outside his head was clearer, but in his head…

“Wait a minute!” You controlled my body! You’ve _been_ controlling my body.’

{It’s just temporary. Just ‘til I get us out of this. Trust me.}

“ _Trust_ you! What the hell _are_ you?” Was it… Was it Captain America’s arm? They’d originally called it a magic metal.

But whatever he was, he wasn’t listening. Steve’s body was already standing up (and up and up).

‘Am I _taller_?’ he asked the thing in his mind.

{Nah, you’re just not slouching anymore. You’re actually in pretty good shape. That’ll help}

Steve could feel the thing’s–

{Jesus H Christ. Call me Bucky. I’m in your Goddamn head. You should use my Goddamn name}

–could feel Bucky’s intention to attack the massive machine in the street, and he absolutely rejected any and all idea of running out there alone.

{But you’re not alone, pal. You got me}

Steve could feel the sarcastic smile that should’ve accompanied Bucky’s comment. He was not comforted, because it turned out that Bucky Barnes, hero of WWII and the first Captain America _was an alien!_

{Jesus wept, kid. I’m not an alien!}

“Then what are you!”

{ _Busy_.}

Bucky made them take another look into the street. The monster bot was dragging the car along with it, determined to get to Steve.

{Fuck!} It was a prayer.

Steve could agree with that sentiment at least. ‘Run?’ he suggested hopefully.

{Can’t. They put a tracker on the arm. We run. They follow. More people get hurt.}

‘But why?’ It was a stupid question, but Steve forgave himself the wailing cry of all unfair things. Especially when Bucky replied.

{They’re after the parasite, what else? The attack downtown was to lure out the Avengers, which worked. Then all these fucking robots ganged up on Sam.}

Oh God. Sam Wilson _was_ hurt. These things had taken out Sam Wilson – a highly-trained, experienced Captain America. What chance did he have?

{None with that attitude pal. Jesus, it’s not like I don’t know what to do.}

Bucky crept Steve’s body back to the first spidery-looking robot.

“Steve?”

Inside, Steve panicked – Pascal had come back. Why? If Steve was barely equipped to handle this battle, Pascal might as well shoot himself now.

{He’s not good in a fight?}

‘Only of gossip,’ Steven answered.

Bucky gave an internal nod, and turned them to face Steve’s former roommate.

“ _Steve???_ ”

Who else did Pascal expect to see in the house, considering it was in the middle of the day and everyone else was at school?

{Okay, so you’re probably a little bit taller than before.)

But that’s not what Bucky had him say.

“Get your fucking dumbass out of here, you stupid shit.” Bucky said with Steve’s lungs and mouth and voice. “Or we’re all gonna fucking die.”

“Rogers!” Great. Bucky had managed to shock Pascal.

Steve thought, ‘You know, I try not to swear’ at his body’s invader.

{I was a Goddamn longshoreman before I joined the army, pal. Fucking deal with it.”

“What is going on, Rogers!”

“I’m battling evil robots, moron. What does it fucking look like?”

‘I also avoid insulting people needlessly,’ Steve added.

{Are you saying he _isn’t_ a moron?}

Bucky let their voice soften. “Just get the fuck out, Horta. Go find the cops, or something.” Bucky turned back to the first machine he’d destroyed.

‘I don’t call him Horta, either,’ Steve commented. ‘It always makes me think of Dr. Seuss.’

{Hey, Dr. Seuss! I remember him. My sisters loved _To Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street._ }

‘I’m so happy for you.’

Bucky bent them down, once again focusing on the big gun – the one as thick as Steve’s _arm_!

{It’ll handle like a cow, but don’t worry. You got the muscles for it now.}

‘That’s not what I’m worried about.’ Though Steve did look down to see chest muscles straining at the T-shirt that had been a bit loose this morning.

What had Bucky and his magic metal arm done to him? He’d panic, but Bucky wasn’t letting him have that much control.

{Don’t worry, princess, back-up’s coming. We just need to keep that machine here and not get you killed.}

“What back up?” Steve said out loud. “NYPD’s not trained to handle huge, killing machines!”

He could feel his lips stretch with Bucky’s soft laugh. {That’s not who’s coming.}

“Who are you talking to, Rogers?”

Bucky turned them to look at Pascal, still standing in the kitchen. “Why are you still here?”

“I still fucking _live_ here.”

“Won’t be doing much living if that robot shoots you.” He turned them back to the machine. Steve watched his hands – wider and thicker than they’d been when he punched Barone. Barone, who was dead, just over there.

{Don’t think of it, kid. You can’t afford to think of it now.}

‘Is it really that easy?’

{Absolutely not.}

Bucky found what he was looking for – the ammo supply that fed the gun. Steve watched as his left hand became metal and Bucky ripped the ammo container out of its brackets. They held it out to Pascal. “Make yourself useful if you’re gonna stick around.”

Pascal jerked back. “What do you expect me to do with _that_?”

“Make sure the belt doesn’t get stuck in the box, numb-nuts.” When Pascal made no move to take the box, Bucky stood up, stalked over to him, and loomed–

_Steve was looking down at Pascal!_

It was his first thought, followed by ‘don’t kill him’.

{I’m not gonna fuckin’ kill ‘em, dumbass, just scare ‘em a little bit}

“If you’re not gonna fucking help me fight that thing, and you’re not gonna leave, then I’m gonna break one of your fucking kneecaps so I’ll know exactly where the fuck you are. One less worry for me. One long life of predicting thunderstorms for you.” Bucky leaned them down. “Do you fucking understand me, you boneheaded piss-brain?”

Pascal’s mouth was open in shock.

It was quiet enough that Steve could hear the damaged wood in the front wall creaking. He could hear the robot outside clanking. Pascal swallowed, and Steve could hear the click.

“You’re not Steve.”

Bucky narrowed their eyes.

“Fuck off.”

Pascal left.

‘That was more than “a little” scary.’

{Arrogant shit} was all Bucky said to that, but Steve could see face after face of young, cocky men in old-fashioned army fatigues risking themselves, risking their platoons, because they couldn’t get their heads out of their asses. And he had the memory of Sergeant Bucky Barnes standing in front of them in rain and cold, hunger and fear, trying to find the words that would save everyone.

He’d known it, of course. Intellectually. Steven had known that Bucky Barnes had served in WWII for a couple years before he’d he’d become Captain America. That he’d fought with the 107th up through Italy until the fateful assault near Azzano. That Bucky Barnes, schlub from Brooklyn – {Hey!} – had been promoted from corporal to sergeant to staff sergeant based on his command skills.

{Fuck skills. Everybody else _died._ } Bucky’s thought was tinged with bitterness. {The whole thing was a fucking JANFU. You’d start the day with 10 guys in your squad, and go to bed with the three guys left – yourself included.}

Steve could almost hear it – the shelling, the screams of the wounded. He had the memory of feeling the ground shake as Hydra Landkreuzers, their uber tanks, approached the front line.

{That’s not the battle we’re fighting now.} Bucky’s thought was firm, bringing them both out of the memories.

The metal-on-metal screeching from the road disappeared replaced by heavy, steady thumps

{Crap, kid. Here we go.}

Bucky grabbed gun and ammo box and planted all four of them in the street behind Barone’s ugly SUV. {Engine block’ll help a little.}

‘You know it’s probably made of aluminum.’

“Well, shit.” Bucky’s tone was more amused disgust than fear – which was what they should be feeling when their primary shield was ten times flimsier than planned.

{Don’t worry, kid. Help’s on the way.”

Bucky kept saying that, but Steve couldn’t see any help. Especially as Bucky wouldn’t let him move his eyes around to check.

{Eyes on target, pal. Focus on the now.}

Before Steve could argue that he wasn’t a soldier, Bucky opened fire on the big robot. He stood them up and somehow _planted_ Steve’s body. Then he lifted the machine gun by its broken mounts and fired. Short bursts, all precisely aimed, taking out laser eyes and targeting systems.

It was amazing. And unbelievable.

‘How do you do that?’

{Told you you could handle it. Now shut up and let me concentrate.}

Considering the 2-story killing robot was turning all its turrets their way, Steve figured it was good advice.

Bucky ran them around the monster bot – {Don’t tense up like that} – to hide behind the old Chevy with the steel engine block.

Steve wondered how he was supposed to prevent it. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t _run_ away. Everything in this situation was outside of his control, and if he thought any more about how little control he had of his own body, he’d really start freaking out.

{For shit’s sake, _stop thinking_. Bullets from this gun’ll fucking penetrate _houses_ unless I aim right.}

Oh.

Steve pretended he could breathe. He imagined himself breathing like he used to do before a game. Five in, four out. Relaxed, but aware. Wait…

He _could_ _breathe_!

{Everybody can breathe.} Bucky’s thought was dismissive, but most of his attention was on shooting out one of the robot’s legs. (He was doing well at it, too.)

Steve didn’t want to distract him, but… But. ‘I haven’t had a full breath since I had sarcoidosis in my sophomore year! And now, I’m breathing – full breaths!’

{It’s the parasite.}

Bucky jumped them to the left just as a rocket hit the SUV. Contrary to the movies, it didn’t bounce 10-feet into the air when it exploded. It was still scary as Hell. Bucky ran them towards the brick stoop of the house next door. Steve carefully kept his question to himself while he did it, but as soon as Bucky had them settled, he had to ask, ‘What do you mean it’s the parasite?’

{I mean the metal. It’s a parasite. It needs its host’s body to be as healthy as possible. It can’t propagate through you if you’re sick, right?}

Bucky Barnes _was_ an alien.

{For fuck’s sake.}

‘Is that why you’re not with Wilson? Is he dying?’ Steve felt the steel curtain Bucky pulled down in front of those memories and feelings. It was a skill Steve envied, since he felt like Bucky (the parasite!) had invaded every part of him. A blaze of anger shot through what little of him remained his. If he’d had control of his body, he’d’ve been shaking with it. As it was, Bucky stumbled sideways, and bullets from the massive machine gun plowed through a Ford F150.

{Would you fucking shut your fucking _thoughts_!}

‘Sorry I’m having a hard time with this,’ Steve thought back. ‘It’s not like I was expecting _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ today.’

Some of the monster bot’s guns fired at them, and Steve pushed his anger down, where it wouldn’t interfere with Bucky’s control of _his_ body.

{I can still feel it.}

‘Deal with it.’

He started up the breathing. five in, four out.  _Just breathe_ , he told himself. _Bucky’ll handle everything_.

He kinda hated that he’d been damseled by an alien parasite, even if it _was_ Bucky Barnes.

{ _Jesus H. Christ_ , kid. You’re a fucking pain. I’ll teach you. _If_ we get out of this together. _Which_ , if you don’t stop fucking _nagging_ on me, isn’t very fucking likely.}

“Not the only nag in here,” Steve sniffed, but he dutifully went back to breathing – five in, four out.  It got easier as his body got more used to Bucky’s style of action. It was pretty amazing what Bucky could do with his body – distance, height, speed – all out of the superhero comics he’d loved as a kid. _Well, duh!_

He was on the verge of feeling this could be kind of cool when he heard the last of the ammo rattle out of the box.

{Don’t worry about it.}

Bucky dared a quick glance at the sky, but whatever he was looking for, it wasn’t there, and the monster bot was turning.

‘Not worrying,’ Steve responded. ‘Breathing.’ A little faster now, but it still counted.

Bucky already had them moving as the robot once again swung its weapons array in their direction. Unfortunately, Bucky ran _towards_ it.

_Breath in, two, three. Out, two, three._

Bucky ran them straight at one of the legs. This time Steve could feel him drawing on the parasitic alien, forcing it into their hands, then out, making a tough, metal barrier between the regular bones in his hands and whatever Bucky was going to punch.

‘Do we have to get so close?’

{Only if you figure out a way to make the parasite into a boomerang, pal.}

Bucky aimed them at one of the articulated joints, and grabbed it with their metal hands. Their momentum meant they swung around the leg. The serrations Bucky had formed around their hands, meant they cut through the metal leg. Not like paper, though. It took work and it was noisy. The sound and feel of it made Steve’s neck bunch and all his hair stand up.

Small guns, probably mounted underneath for defense, shot at them, but Bucky rolled them out of the way. The bullets dug through vehicles and into the pavement.

{Armor piercing. It’s how they brought down Wilson.}

‘Oh.’

They were still moving. This time Bucky launched them upwards, using one of the damaged cars as a springboard. Maybe Steve tensed, but they didn’t make it all the way to the top of monster bot. Instead, their – his _–_ legs dangled below, targets of the small caliber guns, and their hands too busy gripping the slippery upper edge to be able to protect their – _his_ – head.

Bucky made it work.

He shifted their arms, and somehow twisted so their legs were suddenly on the upper edge with the rest of him. One of the big guns swiveled towards them, and Bucky slid them upwards, so that they were essentially tucked under the barrel.

{Hard to shoot us from here, am I right?}

‘That was amazing!’ Steve replied.

Bucky felt pleased. {Was a hell of a shincracker, in my day.}

Steve had no idea what that was.

{Dancer,} Bucky clarified. {I was a good dancer.}

Oh man, Steve thought. Is Bucky going to be disappointed in _him_!

The machine turned and bounced, as if trying to shrug them off, but Bucky punched the fingers of their left hand into the robot. The turret itself was fairly level, so they didn’t move much. Steve kind of thought that Bucky was going to have them tear off the gun like he’d done on the smaller robot, and maybe he’d planned to, but he froze with a hand outstretched.

{Ah, thank Christ!}

‘What?’

{Can’t you hear it?}

Steve tried to hear whatever had Bucky excited, but all he heard was the wind whooshing through the trees.

Bucky sighed. {That’s not the wind.}

Then Steve heard guitars being played in a simple, hard beat. Then some guy shouting ‘I fought the law and the law won!’

“Iron Man.” Steve sighed in relief. Not that Bucky was doing a bad job, but they had no real weapons anymore, and Iron Man always had _all_ the weapons.

{No argument from me, kid.}

However, Bucky wasn’t content to let the heavily armored fighting machine do the rest of the work. He wriggled around until he could drive their metal hand through the gun mount next to them. Then he did the same thing he’d done on the smaller robot and turned their hand into a ball of spikes that ripped through the controls and wires and all the things that made the gun work.

Iron Man didn't wait for them to be clear before attacking, either. Steve tracked the sound of dozens of small rockets headed toward the monster bot, as well as the deep pong of bullets puncturing the outer layer.

He was just about to say something (friendly fire?) when Bucky released the spines, and withdrew their hand. He jumped off. Didn’t do any fancy flips or spins, just landed with bent knees and rolled until their feet were under them again. Bucky dug metal fingers into the sidewalk to stop their momentum.

The robot was fully engaged with Iron Man, and it was losing. Its movement was off from Bucky’s attack on that one leg. It was down two guns, and the bullets from the remaining guns weren’t penetrating Iron Man’s armor – denting it, but not penetrating. It didn’t seem to have any rockets, and it didn’t have arms to take on a flying opponent, so the end was inevitable. With his superior weaponry and armor, Iron Man was going to win eventually

However, Bucky wasn’t patient.

He used their dug-in fingers to pull Steve’s body forward. Again, he charged at the legs – at the same leg he’d attacked last time. He hammered blow after blow on the weakened joint. In their mind, Bucky screamed in rage, but Steve heard nothing in the real world. Bucky was totally silent except for grunts of exertion.

The robot creaked.

‘Bucky.’

He punched and punched. The alien metal parasite forming a hammer out of Steve’s fist.

The robot tilted.

“Bucky!’ Steve shouted in their mind. “BUCKY!”

Being able to speak was startling after so long of Bucky having control. It was enough to make Bucky stop though, so Steve rushed to take advantage. “It’s falling. We need to move.”

In a moment, they were two car-lengths away. In the next moment, the robot stumbled, the damaged leg gave way. Iron Man shot a final tiny rocket into it. There was a muffled ‘poof’, and a tiny jet of flame from its main body. The robot’s legs folded and it dropped to the street, dead.

{Don’t go any closer.}

‘I wasn’t going to!’ Steve had absolutely no desire to get within range of that thing. He hadn’t an hour ago – he didn’t now.

Iron Man approached it. He landed on the street with a thunk, and marched forward, hands up like in his posters. ‘Huh. He actually does that.’

{They’d be no use pointed at the ground.}

Steve acknowledged the logic.

It was only when Iron Man actually kicked it – like, with his _boot_ – and the robot didn’t move, that Bucky allowed their attention to wander. The police lights were the first thing Steve noticed. The watching crowds were Bucky’s.

{Smile, kid.}

‘Ummm. No?’ Steve stammered. ‘I mean, why?’

“So you’re the new Captain America.” Iron Man hadn’t lifted his visor, so his voice was all mechanical threat.

Steve recoiled. “What? No! That’s just– I mean, Sam Wilson…” His brain skittered and he could feel Bucky laughing at him. He took a breath (three in, three out) and pulled himself up to his impressive new height. “No.”

Iron Man’s face plate lifted up, and Steve was looking right at Tony Stark’s face. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

He had a lot more wrinkles than in the magazines…

“It’s probably too late to go back to being a nobody,” Iron Man said. His voice was lazy, uncaring, but his eyes were sharp and assessing. “I mean, you’ve got the thing, right?”

“What’s buzzin’, cousin?” Bucky made him say. He could feel Bucky’s laugh.

Iron Man winced. “Don’t do that.” He looked at Steve. “Don’t let him use those kind of expressions. Nobody knows what he’s saying when he does that.”

Steve kept himself tall. “I’m just helping out. As soon as Sam Wilson is back on his feet, I’ll just… give him back his… _thing._ ”

There was silence everywhere when he said it. Inside and out.

“He is going to get better, right?”

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing.” Iron Man looked away, his mouth twisted as if he was chewing aluminum foil.

{I’d been with him a long time,} Bucky said where Stark couldn’t hear. {This kind of chin-wag we got going? Him and me didn’t even do this anymore – didn’t need to. The only way A.I.M. could force us out of Wilson is by putting him right next to the Grim Reaper. I mean, ‘breathing his exhale’ next to.}

“Is he dead?” Steve asked for both of them.

Stark’s jaw worked. “He’s in surgery.” His voice was clipped. “Until… _until_ he gets better. You’re it.”

"But when he's better, I can give it back?"

Bucky was already shaking his head. {It doesn't work that way. Once the parasite is out, it doesn't go back.}

'But _you're_ the parasite. Surely you have some control?'

{Kinda?) Bucky's thought had layers. {When I was first infected, it wasn’t… this. There wasn’t a conversation like we’re having. But when I went down, in Schmidt’s plane, I thought I was gonna die.}

In the real world, Tony Stark was talking, asking questions, but Steve’s attention was all inward.

‘The comics said you’d veered off course.’

{Off course, in freezing water, fucking bleeding and concussed. I couldn’t move, but it wouldn't let me die. Every time I thought that was it, that it had reached the end of its power, it dug in a little deeper, kept me aware a little longer.} “It _really_ doesn’t want to be in a dead body.”

“You realize he said that out loud?”

{Short answer? We tried after Naslund healed up. It wouldn't go back.}

"It's somewhat unsettling when you do that," Iron Man said. "Not to mention, it makes me look like I'm standing next to a crazy person."

Bucky flipped Iron Man off. Steve said, "It's a lot to take in," in a voice flat with shock.

"Yeah well, maybe wait until there are fewer cameras around to record your breakdown." Stark twisted around and waved to the watching crowds. There were cheers and a few shouted comments. And just about everyone had their cellphone out, recording everything.

It wasn't what Steve wanted to hear. Sam Wilson had been (in his opinion) the best Captain America since Bucky Barnes himself. He'd been in New York for 9/11, digging tirelessly through the rubble. He'd helped around the globe after earthquakes, hurricanes, and tsunamis. He raised money for vets, sick kids and abandoned pets. And that was in addition to fighting Earth's enemies whether homegrown supervillains or huge, alien whale-things.

{He was a good partner. And a great man.} There was a cavern of loss under Bucky's words that Steve didn't know how to approach.

{Don't,} was Bucky's short response.

"Ah, wonderful. The Men In Black are here," Stark said. "We can leave."

"Don't I have to give a statement to the police?"

Stark gave a look of exaggerated horror. "While in shock and without a lawyer? Black Widow would roast both of us. Though over propane, not coals, so there is that."

Bucky chuckled. "Her and Coulson would gang up."

Stark gave a big shudder, which made the plates of his suit flicker open and shut. "Agent is terrifying."

Bucky gave Steve an image of a non-descript man of any age between 30 and 50 in a plain grey suit.

‘ _He’s_ terrifying?’

Bucky gave a mental shrug. {Nothing Tony is or does intimidates him. He is aces at supply and clean-up, though.}

Stark held out a hand. “Hop aboard, princess. Let me take you for a ride.” The sultry tone was accompanied by waggled eyebrows in a very definite invitation.

“What?” Steve froze.

“Ignore him, kid. He’s rationed.”

Stark flinched, but Steve was confused. ‘He’s what?’

“I keep asking you not to use those old-timey weirdo words,” Stark whined.

{He’s got a steady girl, and you don’t stand a chance against her,} Bucky explained. {You may be a good-looking fella, but you ain’t no Pepper Potts.}

Stark wiggled his fingers. “C’mon, you irritating symbiotes. Let’s leave the boring clean-up to the unflashy. We got places to be.”

Steve let Bucky take over climbing onto Iron Man’s armor. He figured Bucky knew where to put their feet. In fact, there were convenient hand and foot holds in the armor that indicated this wasn’t the first time an Avenger had hitched a ride.

{He’s a good teammate, but swear to God. 90 percent of the time, you’ll either want to kill ‘im or kiss ‘im.}

Stark didn’t fly too high, and he didn’t fly too fast, and the trip would’ve been really interesting except that Steve was quietly freaking out over Bucky’s comment. Did Bucky know he was bi? Well, more gay than bi (and that was something else his mother’s parents had blamed on the divorce). But there’d never been a queer Captain America.

{Kid. Your freak out isn’t as quiet as you think.}

‘But, that is what you meant, right? When you said… about kissing him and, um, not being Pepper Potts? You could tell, right?’

{I spent nearly ten years in Betty Ross. I _know_ what it’s like to find another guy attractive.}

That was that question answered, but Steve had more.

‘You’re not upset?’

Bucky’s feel was puzzled. {I just said I know what it’s like to wanna kiss a guy.}

‘No. you said Betty Ross found guys attractive, not that _you_ did,’ Steve argued. It stunned Bucky, stilled him, and that made Steve realize how noisy his mind had become now that it was shared. And how quickly he'd gotten used to it.

{Huh. Nobody’s ever thought of it like that.}

'You're still your own person.'

He felt Bucky's sad chuckle. {Kid, I ain't been my own person since my body died. Maybe since I picked up that rock in Kriechsberg.}

'You feel like a person,' If he hadn't been hanging on to Iron Man a couple hundred feet in the air he probably would've had his arms crossed in stubbornness. 'So if I ever, you know, think about something that makes you uncomfortable...' Steve took a breath. He’d barely come to terms with his sexual orientation; trying to talk about it with someone else was hard.

Good thing Bucky was kind. {Steve, you can look at whoever you like, it's not going to bug me any. Eventually, we’ll figure out how to give each other privacy, but that’s gonna take some time.} Steve's breath whooshed out of him in relief.

Stark jerked the foot they were standing on. "You two are talking, aren't you? Your face gets weird."

“Your face is always weird,” Bucky said.

“Oh my God! I am so sorry!” Steve said right after.

Iron Man tipped his head to look at them, and Tony Stark’s laughter filtered through the faceplate. “Oh this is going to be fun!” He accelerated and swooped with enough to force to make Bucky’s metal fingers to come out and grip the sleek alloy of Iron Man’s suit. Steve was scared into immobility, but inside him, Bucky whooped in delight.

“Oh my God.” Steve kept his eyes shut, but he could sense them rising, rising, rising up. To the top of Avengers Tower, he assumed.

When Iron Man slowed to a hover, Steve decided to look around. He’d been up the Empire State Building once. It had been crowded, noisy and expensive. This was better.

{What kind of New Yorker are you? Stark’s tower’s fucking ugly.}

‘Yeah, but I’m not looking at Stark Tower.’ The Chrysler Building was _right there_. Its art deco steel covering just as beautiful from close up.

‘You don’t look at it?’

It felt like a shake, but Steve’s head didn’t move. {Guess I got used to it.}

In the moments before landing, Steve looked around at everything he could, and Bucky looked with him, enjoying the freshness of Steve’s enjoyment.

There was a slight bump, and they were on a tiny landing pad sticking out from the side of the building, hundreds of feet in the air. The view was still wonderful.

“Thank you for travelling Stark Air, now get off me.”

Steve carefully dismounted from the armor.

{Watch this, kid.}

They watched as Iron Man proceeded down the ramp as if at a royal procession. Steve’s eyes widened as all the mechanical arms slid around Tony Stark’s body, removing pieces of the armor before slipping down and away, floor panels sliding silently into place. Works of industrial art no less beautiful than the Chrysler Building.

{I know, right?} Bucky said. {The things he comes up with… Getting a car to fly wouldn’t even be a challenge.}

Steve was missing a reference there, but he got the gist of it: Tony Stark’s body was attractive, but his mind was stunning as hell.

{Still think I have a problem with you liking guys?}

Steve shook his head.

{Just wait ‘til you meet Jarvis.} Bucky’s thought is both gleeful and smug.

‘Isn’t he Stark’s butler. Like the quintessential British butler – bow tie and tails?’ Because that’s how he was drawn in the comics. Bucky just smiled. {Better. And you need to forget about those stupid comics.}

They’d made it to the bottom of the ramp, which led them to a huge, 2-storey space in sleek lines. Turned out Tony Stark wore a fancy, skin-tight work-out suit under it. For a man pushing 50, he sure was buff.

{Needs to be to handle the suit. He gets bumped around a lot.}

And yeah, Steve knew that. (Again, from the comics.)

He could feel Bucky’s disapproval at his info source. {You know they’re written by a PR firm on 41st Street just off Madison Avenue?}

Anything Steve hoped to say in rebuttal was interrupted by a voice from the ceiling. “Good afternoon, sir. It’s good to have you back.” The voice was smooth and lightly British. It had to be Stark’s butler over an intercom. It was disappointing not to meet him in person.

“Thanks, J,” Stark said casually. “Meet the new Captain America…” He glanced back at them. “I didn’t catch your name. I didn’t ask it, mind. But you didn’t tell me either, so I’m putting all the blame on you. And actually…” Stark turned to face them fully, blocking Steve’s entry any further into the large room. It was weird to realize that Iron Man was actually kind of short out of his armor. Didn’t seem to bother Stark any. He got right into Steve’s personal space and glared. “It _is_ your fault. What were you _thinking_? A strange lump of metal drops out of the sky and you–” He waved a hand, forcing Steve to dodge backwards or get hit. “You just _touch it_? Who does that?”

“It wasn’t a lump,” Steve replied once he was sure Stark was finished. “It was Captain America’s arm. I recognized the star.”

Stark raised an eyebrow, mocking. “So you were going to keep it as a souvenir?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his anger rising. “I thought my asshole roomie would love to auction it on eBay, so it would be better if I put in in my room until someone came to pick it up.”

Stark stared at him, eyes flicking over his face as if scanning for tells. Steve set his jaw and let him.

The moment went on… and on… And then Stark stepped away, a small smile on his face. “Fair enough.” He turned away to walk behind a wet bar. “Still don’t know your name.”

It took a moment for Steve to let go of the tension from the show down.

{Kiss ‘im or punch ‘im.}

“Umm, Steve Rogers.”

“Steve,” Stark repeated. “I’m guessing Steven, with a V, and Rogers – is that with a ‘D’?” He pulled a bag of dried blueberries out of some hidden shelf, and started munching.

“No.” The switch in behavior was bewildering.

“Got that, J?”

“Indeed, sir” Stark’s butler answered through the speakers. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers.”

Two voices spat “Oh, God!” in unison. “Steve, please,” Steve asked, even knowing it was too late.

“ _Mr. Rogers?_ ” Stark chortled. “Can I get you a sweater? Maybe a pair of slippers? You know, to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“Not necessary, thanks,” Steve ground out between clenched teeth.

{I don’t get it.} Bucky didn’t sound like he wanted to understand it.

The only kind voice came from the ceiling. “Very well, Steven. Welcome to Avengers Tower. I am arranging for your security credentials. You will be allowed access to a suite on the 90th floor–”

“My what where?”

“–and the common areas, of course.”

Stark circled his hand. “This isn’t a common area. If Barton tries to convince you otherwise, don’t believe him.”

He was going to meet Clint Barton. _Hawkeye_. And probably the Black Widow and War Machine. The Incredible Hulk. Holy cow!

{Golly gee.}

Bucky took over while Steve tried to come to grips with his new life. “How’s Sam?”

That stopped Stark’s giggles.

“Sergeant Wilson is still in surgery and is likely to be so for a few more hours.” Both Bucky and Stark stilled at the news. They listened with an intensity that was uncomfortable. “His status is listed as critical, but he’s been upgraded to stable, so the prognosis is, at this point, excellent.”

“Permanent injury?”

“I’m sorry, Captain. It’s too early to say.

“Then we wait.”

“Yeah,” Stark’s voice was empty. “He’ll be okay.” He tossed a blueberry into his mouth and chewed resolutely.

“I believe you are correct, sir,” said Stark’s absent butler. “It’s likely Sergeant Wilson’s lengthy collaboration with Captain Barnes has had a permanent effect on his recuperative powers.”

“It didn’t help William Naslund,” Stark continued. “When was he hurt? ’99?”

“’97,” Steve answered.

Stark’s chewing paused. “The nineties,” he said finally. “Bit a blur, really.”

{Don’t ask,} Bucky said. {His parents…}

His parents had been killed in a car crash, Steve remembered, and young Tony Stark had done most of his grieving in a bottle. It was mentioned in the nine-issue Iron Man story arc, _Demon in a Bottle_.

“Gunny Naslund hosted the symbiote for far less time than Sergeant Wilson.”

“Didn’t he cover a grenade that exploded?” Steve asked.

{Yeah} Bucky wasn’t happy with the memory.

“He did indeed.” Steve switched his attention to Jarvis to give Bucky some privacy. “Sergeant Wilson, though badly hurt, has not been injured to the same extent.”

“I hate waiting,” Stark said.

“I am well aware of that, sir. You could pass the time reviewing the documents Ms. Potts left for you.”

“Uh, yeah, no. I’ll be in my workshop.” He headed toward a door on the far wall.

“What about Mr. Rogers?”

Stark didn’t even pause. “Bucky can show him around,” was flung over his shoulder and then he was out the door.

“I’m very sorry, Steven.”

{You game, Stevie?}

‘Sure,’ he replied to Bucky. ‘But it’s _Steve_. I’m not six.’

{I was born in 1919.}

“You don’t have to be sorry, Jarvis. Bucky will show me around, if that’s alright.”

“Perfectly all right, Steven.” A different door slid open.

Bucky kind of nodded at it, so that’s where Steve headed. Bucky took them to the 90th floor. It was possible that he wasn’t paying attention because he headed toward a door with a small sign reading ‘Sam Wilson’. He was just going to walk in until Steve stopped moving. ‘That’s Sam Wilson’s room.’

{Yeah, so?}

‘I’m not Sam Wilson.}

For a moment, his mind held nothing. Then there was an ache, like the air had been sucked out of his lungs, and the whole world was just _wrong_.

{God _damn_! I hate this part.}

Steve kept his mind still. He let Bucky drop their head against the closed door, and he waited.

{Why didn’t it just let me fucking die? It would’ve survived without me – it _had_ survived without me. It hibernated for a thousand fucking years with that shit-fuck of a cube. Why the Hell did it need me?}

‘You said it was sentient.’

{But not at first.} Bucky sighed. {I was sick in that shit-hole castle. Sick and fucking exhausted. You know it was a death camp, right?} Steve did know that. {No Jews, but there were Poles, and Czechs. French. Some were Resistance, most were just “undesirables”. They worked us 11-hours a day, only one decent meal, making weapons out of that weird fucking cube, and it had some weird fucking effects on some of us, and they were studying that, too.}

Steve slid down the wall until they were sitting on the tiled floor.

{We all knew Zola was experimenting on humans. Some poor schmuck freaked out on the floor in the day, they’d come in and drag him away at dinner, and we’d never see ‘em again. It was a Goddamn lottery, and the prize was a one-way ticket to Hell. Then they came for me, and I knew I’d lost.}

‘You had a reaction?’

{I guess? Hell. I don’t remember. I just remember thinking I’d rather die fighting than in Zola’s lab.} He smiled. {I got loose from the guards just inside the lab – it was late, they were sloppy, I don’t know. I picked up this fucking rock, thinking I’d bash in a few heads before they killed me. But all of a sudden I’m not tired any more. I’m feeling alert, and fucking strong, and then I’m thinking, I can get out of this. I can escape!}

‘You think it was the parasite.’

{Had to be. I mean, what the hell? I’m in the middle of a fucking Hydra work camp, in the middle of the fucking Third Reich, surrounded by fucking Nazis! I was crazy, but I wasn’t _stupid_!}

‘But you did escape.’ With over 400 other POWs, which cemented his status as legendary.

Bucky snorted. {It was the unexpectedness, I think, that let me defeat them. That and Schmidt was off fucking around somewhere else. Grunts always slack off when the brass is away.

“I thought–”

Bucky smiled. “You gotta forget those stupid comics, pal.” {I know they put is some epic Goddamn battle as the castle exploded around us, but he wasn’t there. It wasn’t like Schmidt was worried about us prisoners causing trouble. We were all Untermensch - inferior. So when I could suddenly fight back, it took ‘em by surprise. I got my cell-mates out, they got everybody else out, and made sure we all got back to Allied lines. And then, suddenly I’m a goddamn hero. They’re giving me medals, and a squad to fight with. Making movies and posters and fucking comics, but I’m just a guy from Brooklyn.}

‘You know, I’m from Brooklyn, too?’

{Yeah? Maybe you know my great-great-grandniece or something.}

Steve changed the topic. ‘The comics said you were a natural leader.’

Bucky squirmed –shifting around in embarrassment inside Steve. {I took some courses after, but me and book learning…} Steve’s left hand lifted and waggled. {I think that’s why they let me keep Falsworth. _He_ was a proper officer, kept me from looking too fucking dumb in the field. They gave us better guns, more explosives, and sent us out to kill Nazis.} Bucky snorted {I’m telling ya, kid. War is the strangest fucking thing. Anywhere else, you get in trouble for killing people – you get in _more_ trouble if you enjoy it, but war, man. Fuuuuck. We all went a little crazy}

It occurred to Steve that Bucky had been fighting one war or another since 1942. The only years he had off was when he was in the ice.

“I was fighting in the ice, too. That fucking parasite.” He scrubbed a hand through Steve’s hair. {I knew when I ditched, that it was over for me, but I was okay with that. I’d stopped Hydra, It was enough. But the parasite wouldn’t fucking give up. It pushed me to swim to the surface, and I nearly fucking made it, but we misjudged where the Goddamn hole was, and the water, just froze around me.} The cold echoed into Steve's mind and he shivered from Bucky's memory.

‘You don’t like fighting?’ Steve’s question was hesitant. It seemed almost sacrilegious.

{I liked fighting when I was 18. I’m fucking 90 years old, and I’ve had enough of that shit. You wanna know their weirdest thing?}

Possibly not.

{I didn’t know I was dead. When they found my body? I didn’t know I was dead, because I’d become this fucking _parasitic metal_. Wanna know something worse?}

Probably not.

{The first guy to touch my body skin-to-skin turns out to be fucking Hydra.}

“I thought William Burnside was the first person to touch you.”

{Yeah, he was. Operation fucking Paperclip, you heard of that?} Steve nodded. {SSR recruited Zola, and Zola recruited a new arm of Hydra right inside the SSR. I know that never made it into those stupid, fucking comics.}

‘No,” Steve admitted. ‘They never mentioned that. Although, most fans agree he was the worst Captain America, if that makes you feel better.’

Bucky’s smile doesn’t last long on Steve’s lips. {After Hydra, it was the fucking Hive, the Serpent Society, and all these other dumb-fuck super-powered shitheads. Then more Hive, and I don’t Goddamn know. Dictators killing their own people, warlords trying to take over somebody else’s piece of the world.}

‘That can’t have been easy.’

(You couldn’t imagine the shit-storm the American brass indulged in when Betty became my host. We had to fight our own government, because they didn’t want a woman to wear the uniform. Went through essentially the same thing when I picked Sam. People on the street, spitting when he showed up.} Bucky sounded bitter.

They sat quietly. Steve tried to imagine what 70 years of fighting would feel like. Of adjusting to a new body, and the issues that came with its shape and color. Steve could remember some of the stuff that was said when Sam Wilson, Iraq war hero, was given the title.

{I would’ve punched one of those assholes so hard, but Sam kept his cool. Said he knew it would happen, and that Jackie Robinson had it worse.}

‘You’ve been with him a long time.’

{2000. New millennium, new partner. I was so happy to be out of Mace, pal, I’m telling you. He was not okay with having me in his head _at all_. And it wasn’t because he was crooked like Burnside. Just that he didn’t want me around his brain, or his family. In his life. Bill and Betty were involved in the interviews. They explained it to him, what it would be like, but he didn’t hear ‘part of you’ just ‘stronger, faster, better’, ya know?}

Steven nodded. He’d definitely worked with people like that.

{It was better with Sam. Sam was a person first, soldier second. He was actually on leave, thinking about mustering out, when they pulled him into the interview. He’d already started volunteering at the VA and his local pet rescue.}

‘He still does.’

{He reminded me that there was more to life than fighting and war.}

“The disaster relief missions.” They’d become a more prominent part of Captain America’s activities when Sam Wilson took over the role.

{It’s nice to save people.}

‘You liked – like – him.’

{Yeah. He’s a good man.}

‘Now you have to adjust to me,’ Steve said. ‘I’m not a soldier, but maybe, that might be a good thing this time?’

{Maybe. You’re, what? A college student, I think you said at some point.} Steve confirmed it. {What’re you studying?}

Steve dipped his head. {Architecture.}

Bucky sat them up straight. “A fucking architect?” {You’re shitting me.}

This time Steve shrugged. ‘I like art, and I like angles. Seemed like a good fit.’

{A fucking artist. Well shit.} Bucky seemed stumped by that.

‘Still want me to be your host?’

Bucky laughed. {Well, I got no objections, but SHIELD’s gonna be unhappy.}

‘Do they have a say?’ He felt Bucky first instinct to say yes, and rushed on. ‘I mean, you have some choice in the matter, right? They presented you with options, and you picked one. At least, that’s what they say–”

{They say in the comics.} Bucky snorted at him. {Punk.}

‘Is that not correct?’ Steve already knew he was right. He waited until Bucky said it.

{Fine. You’re not wrong.}

‘So you take a break inside me, for as long as you need. We cut down on the black ops, or wet work, or whatever they call it when they kill “for a good cause”, because I’m not military. SHIELD’ll present candidates and you can reject them until they find one that’s absolutely perfect for you.’

{Nobody’s perfect.}

Steve shrugged. ‘So, it’ll take a while. I got no place else to be.’ He said it casually, but it was true.

It was so very true.

It was a realization, an enlightenment, a wonder. “I don’t have to be anyone else.”

Raised as a Catholic, Steve had been trying to prove that his mom done all right by him when she divorced his father; that being gay didn’t mean he’d failed. If he became an architect, that meant he was Somebody – professional, successful – but it hadn’t felt right. Like kissing Connie Ferrari in ninth grade.

Now, here, with this decision to put aside everything he was, everything he’d planned to be, he finally felt light inside, as if he felt hope for the future after years of struggle. ‘I was probably going to drop out anyway.’

{You didn’t sign up for this.}

‘Neither did you,’ Steve said.

{Yet, here we are. Sitting on the floor like a couple of dopes.}

Steve laughed. ‘My ass is getting sore.’

Bucky’s smile spread across his face. {The med floor’s chairs are remarkably comfortable. Something about Pepper spending so much time there while Tony figured out the whole Iron Man thing.}

‘Sure,’ Steve agreed. ‘Let’s go see Wilson.’

Together, they climbed to Steve’s feet, and walked out the door into their future.

 

_.../fin_

 

* * *

 

**Imaginary Histories and a Little Bit of Research**

My initial idea, after looking at the pic on my phone, was that the arm was somehow lying on the ground in front of Steve. This led to the arm being some kind of parasitic metal that fuses with people to survive, but acts like the super-soldier serum from the movies. Per the artist’s request, I had to somehow make it Bucky/Steve, so that's why Bucky became the parasitic alien metal.

Brains can be weird…

 

**Bucky's Lingo** :

I got most of these at [alphaDictionary.com](http://www.alphadictionary.com/slang/?term&beginEra=1940&endEra=1950&clean=false&submitsend=Search). The search engine is horrible, so CTRL+F was my friend.

  * Cooking with gas – to do something right
  * Fat-head - A stupid or foolish person
  * Jack, Pal – dude
  * JANFU – Joint Army-Navy Fuck Up
  * Rationed – already have a boy/girl friend
  * Shincracker – a good dancer
  * What’s buzzin’, cousin? – how’s it going?



 

**My Imagined Histories** :

The names of these Captain Americas are all canon. I have, of course, played with the timelines and histories (like, _a_ _lot_ ).

 **Parasitic Alien Metal** :

The parasitic metal/symbiote is from outer space – possibly Asgard. It infects a host, giving them superior health, strength and longer life. Once a host body is saturated with the parasite, some of it will leave to infect another through skin-to-skin contact. Outside the body, it forms an inert lump and hibernates until a warm-bodied creature touches it with bare skin. (Fur would protect an animal, as do gloves.)

The lump was found by Johann Schmidt in Tønsberg, Norway in 1940, close to the Tesseract. The parasite was aware enough to sense that Schmidt was contaminated with Hydra’s version of the super-serum, so it didn’t transfer. After that, all the Hydra agents wore gloves so it didn’t have an opportunity. Although Zola knew there was something odd about it, both he and Schmidt were more focused on the Tesseract. Bucky Barnes was the first person to touch it skin-to-skin in hundreds of years.

**Bucky Barnes: Captain America, 1942-1967 (1945-1967 in the ice)**

Bucky’s only thought was that it was a weapon he could maybe use in his attempt to escape from Zola’s lab, but he held it long enough that it absorbed into his system. He was immediately healed and given improved strength, healing and endurance – and a metal exo-skin when needed. He led the escape from Kreichsberg, and led the campaign against Hydra at the head of his hand-picked squad. He went into the ice with the plane full of Hydra bombs in 1945. The parasite tried to keep Bucky alive for a loooong time. In the years they were in the ice, Bucky and the parasite fused. It took on his personality – saved it from death, you could say. They became a more of a symbiote, rather than a parasite.

**William Burnside: 1967-1968**

William Burnside was one of the SSR operatives on the recovery team. He pulled off his glove to check for a pulse, and held it there long enough for the Bucky-symbiote to come out of hibernation and infect him. As soon as SSR realized that Burnside had become infected, they wanted to trot him out as _Captain America! Rescued from the Ice!_ Except Bucky was inside Burnside’s head and knew he was Hydra. He pushed the symbiote to infect James Newman instead. (Burnside was trying to kill him by strangulation, hands to throat.)

**James Newman: 1968-1977**

James (and Bucky) convinced Margaret Carter and Howard Stark that the SSR has been infiltrated by Hydra. Newman spent most of his tenure as Cap cleaning out Hydra (and its incarnations) from the SSR and much of the world’s political structures. By 1976, James was having a hard time holding things together. PTSD from both Vietnam and the fight against Hydra combined convinced everyone that it was time to find a new host.

**Betty Ross: 1977-1986**

Betty caught Carter’s attention, and Bucky had no objection to working with “smart dame.” (In canon, she actually became Golden Girl, but that was in the 50s. I placed her in 1976, the height of the civil rights movement and bra-burning feminism. She gets to be Captain America.)

She had a hard time with the political aspect of being (a female) Captain America, and when her (brother?) Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross got promoted to general, and tried to use their relationship to influence her (and the SSR), Betty and Carter decided it was time to retire. As before, they ‘interviewed’ lots of candidates, all military.

**Bill Naslund: 1986-1997**

Bill was found in Marines Recon, young and filled with ideals that he never lost. He got injured badly enough that even the symbiote wasn’t able to fix it. Bucky and the symbiote were able to save his life, but his time as Cap was over.

**Jeff Mace: 1997-2000**

Jeff Mace was the oldest person ever recruited to be Captain America. He was also the first one to be married. The symbiote gave their hosts many gifts; fertility was not one of them. Neither was privacy. Aside from Burnside, his tenure was the shortest.

**Sam Wilson: 2000-2013**

Sam Wilson was recruited from Army Pararescue when the experimental squad was disbanded. Already a hero, his tenure as Captain America was one of the most popular (with a few right-wing exceptions). He helped with the rescues in 9/11. He campaigned for veterans and mental health awareness for all. He loved animals and was an all-round good guy. He and Bucky worked well together.

Somehow, A.I.M found out that his super-powers came from an alien metal that would leave his system if he was injured badly enough. They set out to injure him badly enough. It worked. Bucky was stunned by Sam’s near death and the parasite’s base instincts took over. It crawled out of Sam’s body (taking Bucky with it) and a flying A.I.M robot was able to grab “the lump” and take off. Iron Man shot the robot to bits, and the lump of parasite/symbiote/Bucky fell into Steve’s backyard.

Sam was merged with the parasite/symbiote for a long time (2nd longest after Bucky) so there are lingering effects. When he heals (outside of this story), he becomes the Falcon, (no, he’s not able to communicate with birds telepathically) and stays with the Avengers.

 

**Borrowed Canon** :

William Burnside was indeed the first Captain America after Steve Rogers. He hunted down “commies” and was anti-immigrant, anti-union and many other beliefs that can be considered fascist. It was easy enough to make him Hydra.  
<https://www.marvel.com/characters/captain-america-william-burnside>

_Demon in a Bottle_ is real. From what I remember, Iron Man’s real enemy in the series is his drinking, and it’s one of the (first? few?) large-market comics to deal with addiction of any kind in the hero.  
[en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demon_in_a_Bottle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demon_in_a_Bottle)

 


End file.
